Last year a woman I know through mutual friends was violently assaulted while walking down the street in broad daylight. I never saw the CCTV footage that was reported on the news, but a few of my colleagues told me it was awful to watch.
In the weeks that followed I read many of her Facebook posts as she healed physically and emotionally. It was a psychological rollercoaster, and a ride that I unwittingly became a passenger to.
In 2014, I was assaulted while out walking one afternoon. It took me a long time to accept that what happened was assault. But as I read this woman’s grief and struggles, I found myself identifying with the fear she was consumed by.
I was walking along a footpath near the beach in a well-populated and busy area with my headphones on when two adolescent boys came up behind me. One was on a bike and one was on foot. With music playing, I didn’t hear them approach.
Before I knew it, one of them had grabbed me and groped me; placing their hand inside my shorts. Taken aback, I pulled my headphones out and turned around. They kept walking, laughing together as they looked over their shoulder. I was so shocked. To this day, I don’t know what come over me but I flicked the video camera on my phone and started chasing after them yelling as loud as I could, ‘How dare you touch me. That is assault. I will report you to the police’.
I was shaking so much I could hardly hold my phone. Despite looking young, you could tell they were tough — physically and mentally. I don’t think my high-pitched, erratic voice would have scared them in the slightest. They started running and one of the boys yelled over his shoulder, ‘Shut up bitch, I’ll come back and rape you’.
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When I finally got home, I went to the police station and reported it. With the vision on my phone the police could approach the boys in question.
It wasn’t a major incident. I certainly didn’t describe it as assault at the time. I tried to label it as ‘nothing’. People ‘accidentally’ touch you or brush past you inappropriately at pubs. He only put his hand down (or technically up the leg of) my shorts. But at the end of the day it was a violation of my body and my space. More so than the physical impact was the threat: I’ll come back and rape you. That was the line that played over and over in my head every time I left my house on foot.